


We’re All In This Together (so keep moving don’t stop)

by APgeeksout



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Affection, Alternate Universe, Comfort Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domesticity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 22:10:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20682725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APgeeksout/pseuds/APgeeksout
Summary: He feels the tension bleeding out of him in their embrace; they're not actually keeping him on his feet, but he knows, from experience and from the simple certainty in his gut – even after all he's done and all he will do to them before this is over – that if he just ragdoll-ed out right now, Dean and Roman wouldn't let him fall.In an AU where Seth’s heel turn was actually a long con on The Authority, The Shield steal a few hours together after Hell in a Cell 2014 & the following night’s episode of Raw.





	We’re All In This Together (so keep moving don’t stop)

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [APgeeksout](https://archiveofourown.org/users/APgeeksout/pseuds/APgeeksout) in the [iibb2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/iibb2019) collection. 

Seth checks twice that the number and street match the string of gibberish stuck underneath a leering Shawn Michaels in the middle of his daily flood of “u suck, traitor” twitter heat. (He still hasn't decided whether he's more irritated that they keep taking the chance on contacting him semi-publicly – even disguised by a pseudonymous account and written in code, he can't help but think it's too big a risk – or touched that they keep making sure there's at least one secretly-friendly face in his mentions.)

Satisfied that this is the place, he snugs his rental up to the curb and parks. The rest of the neighborhood is quiet and dark, tucked in for the night, the way he guesses normal people with normal jobs mostly are on this side of midnight on a school night. There are lights on in one set of windows in the stone block of condos, and while he hauls first himself and then his bags out of the rental, one of the curtains draws back, and Dean appears behind the glass, giving Seth a broad grin – even from three floors up, he thinks he can make out those dimples – and blowing him a kiss that looks just as ridiculous as it did on _Smackdown_. This time, Seth mimes catching it, and follows up with a sappy grin of his own and a decidedly un-PG gesture.

He takes the two fights up as quickly as he can – which, on the Monday after a pay-per-view, with the last of his _RAW_ adrenaline surge long-since faded, is not as fast as he'd like – and finds the door to the condo already open to him, spilling warm light onto the landing. Roman is silhouetted in the doorway, hair down and arms open wide.

“Hi,” Seth says, and hears his voice cracking into a higher pitch, even as his face breaks into a grin. “How are you?”

“Happy to see you.”

He takes a step forward, and Roman's arms are around him, tight and strong and overwhelming, but in the good way that so little else has been lately. Roman waltzes him across the threshold without loosening his grip.

Seth drops his bags unceremoniously to the floor - the briefcase hits the hardwood with a heavy, hollow thunk that probably wakes every other guest in the place - and clings back. He buries his face in the crook of Roman's neck. The position knocks his glasses askew and makes the frames dig into unfamiliar parts of his face, but he can't make himself care about that while he's being held so steady and breathing in the familiar spice and citrus of Roman's soap and conditioner.

He hears Dean move behind them, closing the door and throwing the bolt, kicking the briefcase out of his path. And then there are gentle hands lifting the stocking cap from his head and smoothing over hair that he knows is still damp from his quick shower in the locker room.

“That's a pretty cunning disguise, Mr. Money in the Bank,” Dean teases. “Shame to just give yourself away carrying the damn thing around.”

“Yeah. 'Cause I definitely want to be the asshole who let the briefcase get stolen from his rental,” he says, words muffled against Roman's shoulder.

“Fair enough. It's definitely more fun to be the asshole who steals it.” Dean's hands stroke his hair once more, before he drops his head onto Seth's shoulder and drapes himself against his back with a sigh. One of his hands comes to rest at Seth's hip, while with the other arm he reaches around and laces their fingers together against Roman's back. One of Roman's hands leaves Seth's back to ruffle Dean's hair, and it closes the circuit, wrapping his brothers around him completely.

He feels the tension bleeding out of him in their embrace; they're not actually keeping him on his feet, but he knows, from experience and from the simple certainty in his gut – even after all he's done and all he will do to them before this is over – that if he just ragdoll-ed out right now, Dean and Roman wouldn't let him fall.

Seth lets himself just sink into them, soaking in the warmth and steadiness that he's allowed, at least until tomorrow morning, to touch without pretending he'd just as soon end them. He's missed this – missed them – so much that it punches the breath out of his chest in a sudden sob of relief that makes Roman press a kiss to the top of his head and murmur comfort into his hair and Dean snake an arm around his middle, the hand that rubs over his stomach broad and warm through the thin cotton of his shirt.

It's like the whole spectrum of emotions that Seth Rollins, Golden Boy of the Authority, can't afford to feel (so, basically everything but cold anger and contemptuous pride) all settle in his chest at once, and he thinks for a terrible moment that he might just fucking bawl right here. It's terrible, not because they'll judge him – if there's any place in the world where he's safe, it's the space between these two – but because they've got so little time together and he doesn't want to waste any of it being a mess they have to clean up.

The moment passes without his falling apart, and though it's one of those things he'd never say out loud outside a promo – or at least never live down having said outside the ring; he can already hear Dean's impression, making him sound even more glurgy than he's actually being right now – he feels stronger every minute he spends with them. More like himself.

He could probably happily stay like this all night, but he's feeling the pressure of time again, the countdown to when he'll have to go back to sneering and slandering and striking at them to keep up his cover, and he lifts his face away from Roman's neck and says, “Kiss me.”

Roman tilts his own face down and obliges, lips soft and sure and almost lazy; reminding Seth without a word that even though they've all managed to steal just one night together, they do, in fact, have all night.

Dean must be on the same wavelength (which, once upon a time, would have been unimaginable to Seth, but now feels like the only way things could possibly be between his brothers), because he runs his hands slowly up Seth's chest and starts unbuttoning his shirt with an uncharacteristic patience.

He tilts his head back to collect a kiss from Dean. The angle is weird, and it comes out a little sloppy, but a lot enthusiastic, and he leans into it, even as his own hands edge beneath Roman's t-shirt, the sudden comfort of skin-on-skin making him feel fragile all over again. And then Dean is drawing his shirt back off his shoulders, and Roman's mouth is mapping out the hollow above his collarbone and he's feeling a whole other set of ways.

They were always a good team, even before they were this, so it's no surprise that they make it from the foyer and into the master suite without any discussion that can't be conducted by means of hums and sighs and playful nudges and shed layers.

He finds himself backed against the king-sized bed – as safe-houses go, Seth thinks this one's pretty great, though he's been a little too distracted for the nickel tour – until his knees give. Dean kneels, with a wolfish grin that says he knows exactly what having him on his knees is going to do to Seth, and begins to untie his sneakers. Should have packed some sexier shoes. He's hit that level of tired where every damn thing is hilarious, and a weird little giggle bubbles out of him.

Roman reaches down and tips his face up with gentle fingers beneath his jaw, searching his face with soft eyes.

“Something funny, sweetheart?” Dean asks, lightly pinching the place just inside his knee, where he knows Seth is ticklish.

He jumps in spite of himself and laughs again, nudging his toes into Dean's ribs and bringing a hand up to circle Roman's wrist. “Nah, just feeling goofy. Feeling good. Carry on.”

While Dean mumbles something about Seth's hair being the goofiest thing around here, Roman takes his hand from Seth's chin and moves to lift off his glasses, fingers grazing his temples in the process. He takes a couple of steps over to the dresser, folds the frames and sets them on its surface, handling them in the same careful way he's been touching Seth himself.

Dean's been sneaking little touches into their matches over the last few weeks: a hand lingering at Seth's hip while Dean bends him over the barricade for another flurry of punches, fingernails scratching lightly through his beard as Dean gropes for a counter, an arm around his waist keeping them locked together, wrapped hands cradling his head on a pillow of cinder-blocks.

Laid-up, Roman hasn't been able to lay a hand on him since before _Night of Champions_, and Seth realizes with a bolt of tenderness that he isn't the only one who needs this. They're all still in this together.

When Roman comes back within reach, Seth takes his arm and pulls him down for another kiss, slow and thorough and everything he's been missing for weeks. Roman settles onto the edge of the bed beside him, one arm warm around his back, the other hand tracing over the muscles of his stomach, exploratory and appreciative.

Dean finishes divesting him of shoes and socks, throwing them over his shoulder for good measure, and his hands settle against his thighs, all warmth and pressure through the fabric of the jeans he desperately needs not to be wearing anymore. Dean appears to agree, hands moving slowly but with purpose, up Seth's legs, pausing to tease over the growing hardness of his cock, before continuing up to unfasten his fly.

When Dean's fingers curl under his waistband with a graze of fingernails over his skin, he lifts his hips to help with the removal of his last layers. The jeans and underwear follow his socks and shoes, discarded over Dean's shoulder. He should feel exposed, vulnerable, but mainly he's just happy there's nothing between him and his guys anymore. Happy and relaxed and already half-hard.

Roman's still touching him, big warm hands cataloging all the ridges and valleys of his torso, and Dean’s on the floor at his feet, his eyes – Seth forgets sometimes how very blue they can be – traveling leisurely up his body to lock with his own.

“Been thinking about this all day. Fuck, all week.” Dean says.

He slants a look over Seth's shoulder, and in response to whatever passes between them, Roman shifts on the mattress, to settle in behind Seth, hips bracketing his own. Roman pushes his hair to one side of his neck, and brushes a kiss against the spot he's just uncovered, lips soft and wet alongside the scratch and tickle of his beard.

He leans back into the touch, Roman's chest warm against his back, arm tucked around his middle. He lets his eyes flutter shut, and it's in that moment that he feels Dean's breath on his skin, the prelude to a line of kisses drawn up the inside of his thigh.

He makes a low noise in his throat as Dean's mouth brushes his skin, and his breath stutters as Roman's fingers find his nipples for a light tease at the same moment that Dean's attentions shift from the crease of his hip to the head of his cock.

When he opens his eyes again, it's to find Dean looking up at him through his eyelashes and the hair falling messy over his forehead. Apparently satisfied with the audience – and with the evidence of how easily and entirely he can undo Seth if he half puts his mind to it – he shifts to take more of Seth into his mouth, clever tongue swirling around the head to draw another sharp sound straight up from his gut. He doesn't even try to be quieter; Dean deserves to know what he's doing to him.

He reaches down to twist his fingers into Dean's hair, brushing the loose curls out of his face, pulling tight enough to keep his attention, but not so tight that he takes his mouth away. He swears he can feel Dean's smug grin forming around him even as he starts to move. Of course, his hips start to roll without any conscious decision on his part, and he figures that Dean's entirely justified in being cocky. His snicker at the unintended pun is quickly aborted, turning into a breathy whimper as Dean's hand joins his mouth, steady pressure at the base of Seth's shaft in counterpoint to the shifting and teasing of his tongue.

Roman is busy kissing his shoulder, his neck, the spot behind his ear that sets off sparks underneath his skin, his mouth light enough not to leave marks that Seth won't be able to explain at _Smackdown_, but insistent, constant, never leaving his skin for more than a breath or a heartbeat. The hand that isn't wound up in Dean's hair wanders to Roman's thigh, warm and taut, pressed flush against his own.

Their mouths draw needy sounds out of his own lips, and their hands move over his body, familiar and easy in a way that helps to steady something at the center of him even as he feels like he might come apart between them. His hips move more insistently now, back arching to seek more pressure from Dean, and with every rock of his body, he grinds back against Roman. No one has taken Roman's boxers off yet, but Seth can feel the hardness filling out the soft material separating them and the way that the breath against his neck has grown faster and gone a little ragged.

He feels the heat pool low in his gut, and disentangles his hand from Dean's hair, stroking the backs of his fingers over his temple, down his cheek, and along the line of his jaw, still working steadily around him. It's a wordless _I'm close_ that Dean acknowledges by squeezing his thigh and hollowing his cheeks out around his cock.

His head tips back against Roman's shoulder and he comes with a broken-off whimper. While he comes back to earth, Roman strokes a hand down his side, and Dean pulls off and lets his head loll easily against his thigh, cheek stubbly and flushed warm against his skin.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out, fingers twining back into Dean's hair.

“That was awesome,” Roman agrees, and Seth doesn't even have to see his face to recognize the smile he's wearing, warm and wry.

“If we're keeping on with the crowd chants, I'd better hear 'one more time' and not 'Ambrose sucks',” Dean rasps.

He laughs at that, longer and louder than the joke itself probably deserves, and Dean snickers at him and trades another look with Roman, who squeezes him tighter for a beat, then drops a soft peck on his cheek.

They haul him back to his feet, and between the two of them – like they're a literal _fucking tag-team_, he thinks giddily, laughing at his own dumb joke again – they kiss him breathless and lay him out on the bed. Roman's stretched out beside him, now gloriously naked, and Dean stands at the side of the bed, still stubbornly half-dressed, unbuttoned jeans riding low on his hips.

It's only now that he takes in the raised ridge of Roman's surgical scar for the first time. It's a darker brown than the skin around it, set in the hand-span between his waist and the line where his body hair begins, and smaller than Seth would have guessed, but all the same, it makes him scared and sad in equal measure. It's a tangible reminder of everything that could have gone wrong, all he could have lost if the surgery hadn't been in time or had gone less smoothly. It memorializes everything he should have been here for and hasn’t: soothing his partner through pain and frailty, helping him back to strength. If something he knows as intimately as Roman's body can change in his absence, how can he be sure that anything about the three of them will be the same by the time this is over?

His touches the spot gingerly, the skin warm but toughened under the pads of his fingers. “Is this all right? I mean, you're okay?”

Roman chuckles and looks at him with a fond smile. “Are you asking if I'm medically cleared to get off?”

“I guess so,” he says with a sheepish smile of his own. It's not everything he wants to know, but it'll do for starters.

“Doc gave me the thumbs-up last week. Said I'm good to go, long as I let my partner do most of the work.”

“Never let it be said that I didn't work as hard as I could,” Dean says, shimmying out of his jeans and briefs and taking a knee onto the edge of the bed on Roman's other side. “Dean Ambrose is a low-down, disreputable sonuvagun, but don't you ever call him lazy,” he says, smirking, even as he nudges Roman onto his side to face Seth and then molds himself along Roman's back.

“Oh, I can think of a few things to call you, all right,” Roman says, and he's trying for irritated or menacing, but the tone falls a little flat when Seth can see the way his eyes flutter closed, and he’s sure he and Dean can both feel the way Roman's breathing changes when he's pressed between them.

For all that Dean swears he's not Houdini, Seth is pretty sure it's some kind of magic when he produces a bottle of lube from somewhere and drizzles a network of thin lines across Roman's thighs.

"Shit's cold, babe," Roman protests, though the heat in his tone still doesn't sound like irritation.

"Not for long," Dean says with a good-natured leer and dips his head to suck a furious kiss onto the spot where Roman’s shoulder curves into his neck. The big man doesn’t have evil overlords scrutinizing him for signs of faltering commitment or slipping obedience - off TV, he doesn't even have overworked makeup artists and lighting techs to answer to - and it looks like Dean’s decided he should be marked up enough for all three of them. Seth doesn't disagree, and from the punched-out sound Roman makes at the touch of Dean's mouth, he's on board, too.

Seth leans in to steal another kiss (or, at least, it would be stealing if Roman weren't so happy to give it to him freely, opening his mouth to his tongue and reaching out to pull him even closer) and melts into the strong hand that frames his jaw and then works back into his hair. If the oil was cold to begin with, his boys have warmed it through by the time he presses in close enough for his own skin to slick against Roman's.

Dean’s body is a taut curve against Roman’s back, contorted into a shape that lets him keep his mouth focused on the crook of Roman’s neck while his hips rock forward and back, dragging his cock in a filthy glide across the slick skin of Roman’s inner thighs.

Seth knows that would be a sight worth treasuring: Roman clenching his muscles and shifting his position to try to give Dean more friction, hands moving indecisively, torn between touching his own body and groping desperately behind him to put his hands on as much more of Dean as possible; Dean’s fingers pressed into Roman’s hip hard enough to leave behind an outline of his touch, the tip of his cock where it emerges from between Roman’s legs darkened as red as Dean’s cheeks and the flush creeping up Roman’s throat. But, to really enjoy the show, he’d have to draw back far enough that his own body isn’t blocking the view, and he finds he’s not willing to put that much space between them tonight.

Instead, he moves closer still, until he can feel that Roman’s hard against his hip, and he reaches down between them to slick his hand with some of the oil smeared on his skin and wrap it around his cock. When Dean rolls his hips into Roman’s, it pushes him that much harder into Seth’s fist.

Roman threads his hand further into his hair, cradling the back of his head - keeping him close, even though there’s no place in the world he wants to be more than right here - and pants and moans against his mouth, caught up between him and Dean, overwhelmed in a way that makes Seth ache with pride and affection and sorrow that it’s been so long since they’ve all been together like this.

“Oh... oh,” Roman says, his vocabulary shrinking as his pleasure grows, the way it always does when he’s getting it especially good, and Seth moves his hand, changing up his stroke, and kisses him again. He’s nipping at Roman’s lower lip when he hits the edge, his whole body going taut then shuddery as his fingers scrabble against Seth’s scalp and his come spatters hot over Seth’s fist and onto both their bellies. The smile Roman slants his way as he gently slides his fingers back out of his hair is so sweetly dopey that Seth can hardly imagine how they’re going to manage pretending to hate each other again when Roman returns.

Dean is still pressed up behind Roman, rutting restlessly against him and dipping his head to deepen a mark or add something new to the chain of lovebites he’s drawn down the line of his neck and along the planes of his un-inked shoulder. He hasn’t finished, but he won’t need much more, if the way his eyes have have slipped shut and the crease of serious concentration between his brows are still the tell Seth has always known them to be.

“Hey, babe,” Roman says, reaching back to squeeze at the muscle of Dean’s thigh, “got an idea.”

“Hmm?” Dean murmurs eloquently, unfastening his mouth from Roman’s shoulder for long enough to rest his chin there instead. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is a little wilder than usual, even, sweat-damp and curling chaotically, mussed by the bedding and their hands. Seth can’t resist reaching across Roman to cup his burning cheek, and Dean turns his head a little to catch his thumb and suck the tip into his mouth. Though most of the mess of Roman’s orgasm is smeared between them, Seth imagines that when Dean swirls his tongue over the pad of his thumb, he’s getting a taste of him and Roman mingled.

“Feels like our boy is ready for round two,” Roman continues. (And he’s not wrong; after a little time and a lot of looking, listening, touching, Seth is half hard again already.) “Thought you might want to finish on his dick. Be a great show if you’re both up for it.”

He slips his thumb out of Dean’s mouth and traces his bottom lip instead. “You’re the one waiting to come, man. Your call.”

Dean grins and moves his hand from Roman’s hip to smear through the mess on his stomach. “You don’t get enough credit for all your good ideas.”

“Eh,” Roman says easily, “I feel pretty appreciated right now.”

Dean’s eyes slide shut as he pulls out from between Roman’s thighs, and he breathes out slow, his cock high and hard against his belly, dark red and shining with what Seth’s pretty sure is a blend of lube and precome.

“You’re that close, huh?” Roman asks, then cranes up to kiss the indignant face Dean makes at that and helps maneuver him over to kneel above Seth, a knee sinking into the bedding on either side of his hips, tremors running through the thighs bracketing his own.

He reaches up to take Dean’s face between his hands and guide him down into a kiss. He sees Roman shift from the corner of his eye, and though it’s out of his line of sight, Seth can tell exactly when Roman’s long slicked-up fingers start to tease Dean by the breathy noise he makes against his mouth.

“He’s too good at that, huh?” he says, soft but loud enough for it to carry to Roman.

Dean gives a shaky laugh by way of answer and braces his hands on the mattress above the pillow. He tips forward and leans his forehead against Seth’s, his breath falling hot on his cheek.

He tilts Dean’s head back to push the hair off of his forehead and trails his other hand up the sweaty curve of Dean’s back and lets him breathe through the sweet agony of Roman opening him up. Dean’s eyes are screwed shut and his lip is caught between his own teeth, and Seth is so, so tired of saying awful shit to him for a jeering crowd.

He lets Dean hang his head again, unruly bangs tickling his cheek, and he turns his own face to put his lips close to Dean’s ear.

“Hey,” he whispers, “you know I love you, right? Love you so fucking much.”

Dean makes a sharp, desperate noise in the back of his throat that could be a response to Seth’s words or Roman’s hands or both. “‘M ready,” he pants. “I’m ready. Please.”

Roman moves back into Seth’s eye line, dropping a kiss onto Dean’s shoulder blade, and wrapping one slippery fist around Seth’s cock, simultaneously stroking him back to full hardness and slicking him up to ease Dean’s way. His hips jerk up into the touch.

“It’s all you, babe,” Roman says to Dean, and then stretches out alongside Seth - apparently ready to enjoy the show, just like he’d said. He lays his head on the pillow next to Seth’s and rests his palm on Dean’s tense thigh, stroking his thumb over the muscle.

Dean shifts to brace one hand against Seth’s chest, and uses the other to position him, so that he can lower himself onto his cock. He’s moving slow, breathing shuddery and letting himself adjust, and stealing Seth’s own composure along the way. Seth offers up his hand, and Dean laces their fingers, uses the grip for better leverage as he sinks down and rises up. When he settles into a good rhythm, bottoming out on each downstroke, Seth wraps his free hand around Dean’s cock, still hot and leaking even after being neglected during the long minutes of Roman’s teasing.

Dean gasps and gives a little jolt at his touch, and the easy roll of his hips goes a little erratic.

“That’s it, babe,” Roman says, and it’s not clear to Seth which of them he’s addressing. Maybe both? Maybe it doesn’t matter? Not when Dean is arching his back and throwing his head back and clenching and shaking around Seth and coming in a hard spurt that messily paints his own blotchy-red chest.

It doesn’t take long for Seth to follow suit, spilling inside of Dean while he rocks down against him and squeezes his hand and Roman presses a kiss into the sweaty hollow of his neck.

High on endorphins and affection and the comfort of being so close after so long apart, it takes him a little bit to come back down, and he guesses he’s not the only one, from the faintly glassiness in Dean’s eyes when they meet his own and the absent circle Roman’s hand strokes over his abs. For the first time since June, he feels sated and secure.

Unfortunately, as his pulse slows to resting, he also feels grimy: itchy with dried sweat and tacky come, and he’s definitely not the only one in that boat.

“Any chance somebody wants to carry me to the shower?” he asks, and laughs into the pillow Dean plops over his face in response.

* * *

He makes it to the bathroom under his own steam, and it turns out to be not just a bathroom, but a whole gigantic suite: a dressing room with vanity mirrors and low wooden benches and space to hang Seth's entire wardrobe (even expanded with Authority-caliber suits as it is now) with room to spare, deep double sinks set into acres of marble counter, the toilet relegated to its own gleaming room, the biggest room holding a deep round bath and a massive, glassed-in shower.

"Wow," he says, and hears his slightly loopy voice echo back at him while he bumps his shoulder into Dean's, both of them moving slow and a little stiff.

"Right?" Dean says. "Pretty sure my entire apartment in Tampa could've fit in here."

"Maybe even just in here." The echo of Roman's voice is dampened by the shower's spray as he tests the temperature and adjusts the faucet and beckons them in.

The heat and pressure of the water feel so good on his back that he doesn't even have a chance to try to hold back the whimper that creaks out of his throat. Dean smiles knowingly - his back would have been the same mess after last night - and steers him backward to reposition him under the spray. He makes another sound at that, something between a whine and a moan, and closes his eyes. Dean's hands settle on either side of his face - almost as gently as they had in that moment in the cell - and Seth lets him tip his head down to press a kiss into the space between his eyebrows.

"Sneaking up behind you," Roman warns, and he laughs, maybe just a little hysterically. (Dean's given him plenty of warning to prepare for all of his recent ambushes, but with everything that's at stake - with the Authority always just over his shoulder - his jumpiness isn’t that much of a put-on for the cameras’ sake.)

And then Roman is rubbing his neck and kneading his thumbs into the knotted muscles down his back in a path that follows the line of characters inked between his shoulders, and Dean is tipping his head back under the spray to wet his hair, and he gives himself over to whatever they want to give him. He moves where they direct him to, and soaks up the attention and care, and touches them both as much as possible, but mostly, he just stands between them and lets it all wash over him and relishes not having to put his gameface back on for a little while.

His bag is still out in the entryway, so when they start massaging conditioner into his hair and sudsing away all the lube and sweat and other body stuff, they use the bottles of their own products already in the shower. It’s probably a risk - someone else could recognize the particular blend of Roman’s fancy lemon-y shampoo and Dean’s no-frills Irish Spring - but he likes the thought of carrying one last little bit of connection away with him. They can’t be Hounds of Justice, or any other kind of unified front, but at least for the rest of the day, he’ll know he smells like part of the pack.

By the time they’re coaxing him to tilt his head back to rinse out his hair one more time, his throat is thick and his chest feels full again - must be another day that ends in -y - but he thinks he’s going to keep it together. Being apart - being hateful any time cameras or prying eyes might see - isn’t easy for any of them; he can take his strength from them without making them worry about him when he leaves.

Except, Dean is looking at him with an expression that’s some wild mix of tender and fierce and then drawing him forward to tuck his face into his neck, and Roman is breathing out an “oh, baby,” and wrapping his arms around them both and resting his cheek against Seth’s hair, and somehow Seth is the last one to recognize that all the moisture on his cheeks didn’t come from the showerhead.

“Get it all out here,” Dean says, and the roughness of his voice and the softness of the hand he strokes up and down his side pair up to wring a broken sound out of Seth’s chest.

“We’ve got you, little brother.” Roman turns his head, and the kiss he drops into Seth’s hair is enough to make him tremble. “We’re here.”

He repeats it like a mantra - they both do, echoing themselves and each other with soft reassurances and sweeter than normal pet names - while the gush of things he can’t afford to feel in the McMahon-Helmsley penthouse suites overflows its dam and sweeps him away on its current. By the time it’s over, he feels somehow both lighter and less hollowed-out. He’s terrified for a moment that one of them will say that he shouldn’t go back and he’ll be weak enough to agree and everything they’ve already sacrificed will have been for nothing.

They don’t, though - maybe they’re both afraid of the same thing; Seth knows better than to ask. Instead, they just shut off the tap and usher him out of the shower and into a cocoon of soft towels. In the dressing room, Roman nudges him to sit on the low bench and runs cold water into a washcloth, folds it into a neat band and holds it against his eyes, where his skin feels hot and puffy. He leans into the cool touch and tries not to think about the fact that this is probably a parenting-a-toddler trick that he’s scared Roman into breaking out on him.

“I’m okay,” he says after a while, covering Roman’s hand with his own and pulling the rag away, and his voice is actually less of a wreck than he expected it to be. At least halfway back to convincing again.

Roman smiles, humoring him even if he’s not totally sold, and tosses the rag into the wicker laundry hamper before reaching to unwind the towel wrapped around his head and tousle gently through his wet hair.

About the time he registers that Dean has left the room without him hearing, he’s ducking back in, with a pair of sweats riding low on his hips and changes of clothes for Seth and Roman in hand. He leaves the pile on the counter and blows another kiss before he backs out into the bedroom again.

He rises to his feet, steady again and determined to show it, and pulls Roman into a hug, bowing his head to brush a soft kiss over the top of one of the marks Dean left behind, its purple-red made deeper by the hot shower and the little bit of time gone past.

“Seems like a shame to cover all this back up again,” Roman teases, undoing the towel at his waist and letting his warm hands range across his hip and down to curve against his ass. Neither of them is really energetic enough to make anything more of it tonight - this morning, by now - but it’s good just to have Roman’s hands on him again after so long.

It turns out that none of the sleep clothes Dean brought in belong to Seth, but he doesn’t actually mind, just cinches the drawstring in the waist of the soft flannel pants that are probably Roman’s and pulls on the red Cesaro merch t-shirt that is definitely Dean’s, since he knows he didn’t pack his own for this loop. He wonders idly how long he’ll be able to wear these before they stop smelling like his boys.

Roman finishes getting into his own clothes and steps to the mirror to tie his hair into a low ponytail. He fingers the cluster of lurid bruises that peek above the collar of his t-shirt. “That boy is a vampire,” he grumbles.

Seth can see in the reflection that he’s rolling his eyes, but Roman and Dean don’t have any practice at all at hiding or lying about what they are to each other, and Seth’s not fooled for a second. “Yeah, I love that bitey asshole, too,” he says, and moves up behind Roman to mold against his back and wrap his arms around his middle. “Love you.”

“I love you, too, babe." Roman reaches down and laces their fingers together, raises their joined hands to press a kiss into the center of his palm. "Glad we did this. Been needing to see you.”

Seth rests his chin on his shoulder and meets his eyes in the mirror. “Me, too. I didn’t quite believe you were okay until I could touch you,” he admits.

”Touch me any way you want.” Roman’s smile goes cheesy in the mirror, and he presses Seth’s hand over his own heart. “Can’t have you going away unsatisfied.”

When they drift back into the bedroom, still holding hands because there’s no one around to make them suffer for it, Dean is tucking the last corner of a fitted sheet under the far edge of the mattress, and he greets them with a deadpan, “Yes, I know how to make a bed. Try not to look so surprised.”

“Nah, babe.” Roman chuckles, and Seth squeezes his hand before he lets him go. Roman crosses the room and reels Dean into a hug before he finishes, “You’re all my favorite surprises. Break my heart if you stopped.”

Dean squirms under the attention - as Roman must have expected; for a guy who can be such a ham in front of a receptive crowd, their boy’s always tended toward weirdly bashful about private displays of affection aimed at himself - but not wildly enough to actually break out of Roman’s embrace. Seth looks on as he lets Roman ruffle through his drying hair, and gradually realizes that the navy t-shirt stretched across Dean’s shoulders is Bears gear swiped from his own bag. He knows with a sudden, sweet certainty that when he unpacks, his bag will be full of Dean’s and Roman’s shirts, while his own clothes mysteriously make their way to Florida and Nevada.

Roman eventually lets Dean wriggle away. “Gonna feed you up,” he says to both of them, and moves out for the kitchen. “Eggs’ll be ready in 15.”

It’s a weird time for food, maybe: pretty late for dinner when they haven’t even just closed down the bars, but too early for breakfast. Still, Seth’s not quite ready to sleep yet - the sooner he crashes, the sooner it’ll be time to slink out and drive away from them again - and maybe he’s not the only one.

“Nice shirt,” he says with a chuckle.

“This old thing?” Dean grins, all mischief and dimples, and beckons him closer. He pulls him in for a soft kiss and nudges him down to the corner of the bed. “Sit.”

Sometimes it’s fun to get a rise out of Dean by challenging him, being stubborn just for the sake of it, but he’s tired of fighting with Dean for show, and tonight, where they can both get away with it, he just follows his lead. The mattress dips with Dean’s weight settling in behind him, and then there are fingers combing carefully through his hair, unsnarling a tangle, massaging his scalp, sectioning out the strands beginning at the top of his forehead.

They never talk about where - or why - Dean learned to do a french braid. They hadn’t been the Shield yet, back when he was circling around Regal, but they’d watched his promos - everyone at FCW had; Dean was magnetic that way - and Roman can tell all about the things you’ll learn to do to make a little girl smile. So, they’ve got ideas, but it's always felt like pulling the story out of him would destroy whatever peace Dean gets from the gesture. By some unspoken agreement, Seth and Roman never ask too many questions when Dean's restless hands reach for their hair.

He doesn’t press for any details now, either, just relaxes under Dean’s touch as he methodically works more of his hair into a plait that’s neater than he thinks most people would credit Lunatic Fringe Dean Ambrose with being capable of.

“Gonna miss fighting with you every night,” Dean finally says as he binds the tail of the braid with an elastic band.

Seth hums a note that’s half an agreement: he won’t mind if the Authority aiming him at Cena means that he’ll spend fewer nights lying to the world about how little his boys mean to him, but he will miss being able to stay in Dean’s orbit, being able to get in the ring with him. Even back before he’d actually liked Dean, he always loved wrestling him.

“Promise you’ll be careful with Wyatt?”

Dean tickles the back of his neck with the straggly end of his braid, and he squirms away from it, laughing in spite of himself. Dean wraps an arm around his waist from behind and pulls him back to lean against his chest.

“Buzzard Breath is the one who needs to be careful,” he growls. “Doesn’t know who he’s fucking with.” He drops a kiss on the back of his neck. “Doesn’t know how crazy it’s gonna make me, not being able to keep an eye on you.”

“I’ll be okay. Things are going just the way we planned, right?”

It’s true: Seth is in. He can start planting little charges of dynamite in the Authority’s foundations, setting out to blow them up from the inside, just the way they think they’ve demolished the Shield. Of course, it’s also true that it’s all been so much harder than they planned.

Dean sighs. “Yeah, yeah. I just wish it wasn’t all on you. I want to be doing more.”

“You’re doing plenty,” he protests. “We’ve gotta be close to the end. Just save a spot for me in bed, and take care of yourself and Roman.”

“That’s a couple of full-time jobs.” Dean nuzzles against his neck again, and Seth reaches back for a handful of his hair.

“How is he? Really?” He knows better than to ask how Dean himself doing and expect a straight answer, but he knows he’ll share his intel on their boy.

“A little stir-crazy, I think.” Even though he doesn’t crane around to look at him, Seth can see the smile on his face, both fond and exasperated at once, as Dean goes on. “He’s a ways from being cleared for the ring, yet, but he’s strong enough to be ornery again.”

“Not that you would know anything about that,” he says, deadpan until Dean’s fingers unfailingly find a ticklish spot and he has to squirm away. He winds up on his back on the clean sheet with Dean settling over him, a comforting weight he doesn’t even think about kicking out of.

Dean leans down and kisses him again, soft and light, more _just because we can_ than anything with serious intent or intensity behind it. He pushes the hem of his shirt out of the way and presses his palm to the warm skin at the small of Dean’s back.

“We both know a thing or two about worrying about you, too,” Dean says, stroking a line down his chest and then shifting aside so that Seth can get up. “Been hard on him, watching everything go down from home. Go see what he’s up to. I’ll be right behind you.”

By the time Seth follows his nose into the kitchen, Roman has already plated up some toast for each of them, and now stands at the stove minding the eggs: scrambled, with crumbles of bacon and slivers of pepper and onion mixed in.

"Need any help?"

"Nah." Roman smiles and turns partway from the stove, making a space at his side for Seth to tuck into. "I'd love the company, though."

Once Seth is close enough to touch, Roman reaches up to the crown of his head to trace light fingers over Dean’s handiwork and down to tug gently at the tail of his braid before he tips his head down to press a kiss to his temple, and then pulls him into a one-armed hug, keeping him close as he finishes breakfast. Seth lets himself just lean into the easy, familiar warmth of Roman's body, while the crack and sizzle of the skillet and the rich smell of the food fill up the air around them.

“You doing okay?” Roman asks, breaking the quiet only after he’s turned off the burner.

Seth nods against his shoulder; it’s going to make his hair fuzzy, but he doesn’t figure Dean will hold it against him. “I’m so much better after tonight. You?”

“Same. Turns out you two are the medicine I needed.”

It’s a corny line and, by all rights, Seth should give him shit about it - he definitely would in a different time and place - but he’s feeling sappy enough himself tonight, and there’s no one here he needs to play the hypocrite for, so he just nuzzles a little closer against Roman’s chest instead.

“How do you think Dean’s been?” he asks after a while. Roman hasn’t been on the road with him consistently since the surgery, but he’s still had a lot more chances for unguarded conversations with their boy than Seth has lately.

“Missing you,” Roman says thoughtfully. “Worried about the Authority setting you up for something while he’s tied up with Wyatt.”

“Keep an eye on him,” he says. “You heard him tonight. You remember how Wyatt was with him before.” Roman nods and kisses his head again and Seth leans into him a little harder before he goes on. “And now he’ll get to fuck with his head after I’ve already done a number on him.”

Roman breathes in a little gasp, like he’s surprised to hear this is what’s on Seth’s mind. “Wyatt’s a freak; we’re definitely gonna shut that shit down,” he agrees. “You know Dean knows you don’t actually think any of the shit you’ve been saying, right? I mean, we all talked about making sure it looked real. Letting them think you burned all your bridges and pissed in the ashes.”

“Yeah, just, it’s been so long, and I keep digging deeper. I don’t mean it, but I know I’m not the first one to say most of it to him either.” He sighs and pulls away a little, and Roman lets him go, gives him a minute and a little space while he turns to dish up the eggs. “I know it can’t be easy to listen to, even knowing it’s all bullshit.”

“‘Bout as tough as it is to say, I guess,” Dean says from the doorway.

He smiles sheepishly at getting busted talking about Dean behind his back, even though it’s nothing so bad, even though it’s with Roman. Dean just shakes his head and casts a _what’re we going to do with him?_ look Roman’s way before he comes into the room fully.

“We’re all gonna be fine. As long as we remember what’s real,” Dean says. And then he squares up his shoulders and extends his fist, face so earnest that it makes Seth’s throat ache.

Roman steps past him to set a couple of plates on the kitchen table and then comes back into range, puts his fist in, and looks expectantly at Seth.

There’s no crowd to see or to cheer, but this has never really been about everyone else, and after all the pretended slights and backhands, Seth never wants to leave them hanging again.

He reaches out and bumps his knuckles lightly into theirs, and then steps into another hug. Two sets of arms around him, tight and strong and more real than anything else in his world lately.

“Another thing that’s real right now,” Dean says against his temple, “is the grub’s getting cold.”

They chuckle at that and settle around the table to dig in. Roman drapes an arm over the back of his chair and idly rubs his shoulder, and Dean hooks one foot around his ankle beneath the table, and by the time he’s cleaned his plate, Seth is filled up with more than just breakfast.


End file.
